Born:Died
by Eclecticreature
Summary: (Author Note: My other fic is just a joke. This one is actually well-written.) Who is the mysterious blonde boy riding pillion on Wez's bike? Where did he come from? And how did he end up with a man as brutish and savage as Wez? This is the story of his life and death with Wez and the Dogs of War. (AU, no boomerang death.)


Born: Died

_ A Road Warrior Fanfiction_

"_He was a man like no other. Strong, silent, and the most beautiful thing to ever grace this twisted world of ours, he was the Rose of the Wasteland. Despite years of being surrounded by savages, he never gave into the animals around him, and I don't think there was ever an animal inside him. He was the only true human left; the only one of us who was fully man. Some say he wasn't even a man, that he was just a legend. A Myth. But I knew him. I rode through the wasteland with him and his master, the Mighty Wez. I watched him transform from an innocent child, to the Golden Youth, to the Golden Angel that he died as. He was truly the only one of us destined for somewhere other than Hell, for he was the only piece of Heaven in our Hell on Earth." _

_-The last Dog of War, on the Golden Youth._

The sun's searing rays shined through Daimens eyelids as he slowly rose from his deep sleep. He turned over and pulled the blankets over his head, grumbling at the intruding brightness. _Stupid sun…I didn't get to finish that dream…it seemed important, but now…I don't remember what it was…_He dismissed the thought as he peeled himself up off of the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable bed, but he had never known any other. He'd lived in this small, rickety, and poorly-repaired house in the middle of the wasteland for all of maybe…sixteen years now? He had lost track. Days blended into eachother so much that yesterday could have been part of today. No matter, Daimen lived day-to-day with nothing to worry about but safety, food, and contentedness, which his mother had always provided for him and his sister.

Walking over to the window, which had long since been broken, Daimen absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair. The sun was brilliant. Its searing rays reflected off the sand and baked the very air into a blanket of white heat. There was nothing but sand for miles beyond the little window. Sand, sand, sand….just lots of sand. Not that Daimen had seen much beyond his house. It was too dangerous, his mother would tell him, and he wasn't allowed to go with her when she left to find food. He had to stay with his sister while his mom took her small kitchen knife and went scavenging. Sometimes she was gone longer than others, but she always came back with something. Sometimes she even had books for Daimen.

He walked over to the small pile of books in the corner of his room, pulling out the latest addition. His mom brought it back yesterday, all dusty and slightly torn, but full of beautiful pictures of something called the Indian Ocean. It was supposed to be off the west coast of the continent he lived on-his mom told him it was once called "Australia." Daimen would sit for hours just flipping through the book and looking at all the beautiful pictures. He was amazed at all the vibrant colors of the fish and plants, and at how much he had never seen. There was so much life underwater. So much more than was on land…

_One day, _he promised himself, _I'll go see it. I'll find the Indian Ocean. If it's the last thing I do…_Daimen closed the book, and decided that he'd come back up later and try to write about the ocean. He liked to write, especially songs, and would spend hour just sitting and writing lyrics. He never showed anyone, though. They were too private for that. _Besides, _he kept thinking as he went downstairs, _I don't like to sing in front of people, anyway._

His mom greeted him as he walked into the kitchen. "Well, look who's decided to grace us with his presence!" Daimen's mom was sitting at the table with his sister's dress in her hands. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?" Daimens quiet, husky voice matched his demeanor, as he himself was a very quiet person.

"Liza tore her dress again. Would you mind fixing it while I go look for more water? We're short again." His mom looked frustrated, and rightly so. It had been hard to find water recently, so they had to ration more than usual. She also had to scavenge more than usual. This was her third water trip this week.

"No problem." He took the dress from her and sat down.

"Thanks, dear. I'd have your sister do it herself, but I asked her to go find my old gun and clean it up…" There was a tone in her voice just then that Daimen picked up on. She seemed distracted…or worried?

"Do we need it?"

"No." the answer came a bit too quickly. "I just thought it would be better to have then not."

"Oh." The fact that his mother had just lied to him made him nervous. There was something going on that she wasn't saying. Had she seen something while she was out? Something dangerous? Something…that required a gun to protect yourself from?

"I don't know how long I'll be out. I might have to go farther to find water, this time. Just remember: _Stay. In. The. House._ Do **not** leave. You hear?" There was such urgency in her voice…

"Yes, mum." And all was still and quiet for a moment.

She looked sad as she knelt down to hug Daimen. "I love you."

"I love you, too." It almost sounded as if they were saying goodbye. Like this was the last time they'd see each other. "Come back safe."

"I will. Stay safe."

"I will." And she left. Daimen looked down at the dress. It was torn across the bottom.

Nothing a little whipstitch couldn't fix.

Later, that night, Daimen's mom came back with so much water that it was a wonder she could carry it all. Daimen grinned from ear to ear and went to help her with her burden, taking a few containers from her arms. His sister came downstairs in her patched-up cotton dress and cheered when she saw all the water.

"Mom! Where'd you _get _all this!?"

"I had to go out quite a ways," she sat down at the table with a tired sigh "but I found an abandoned set-up. Well, abandoned—except for an old dog. He came at me, so I returned the favor."

"So, does that mean…" Liza asked excitedly with an expectant smile growing on her face.

"Yes, Liza. We have meat tonight, too. Plenty of it."

When his mother announce that they would actually have enough food and water tonight, Daimen couldn't stop grinning, even through his sister's ear-piercing shouts of joy. They were all celebrating the first time in a long time that they would have a full meal, and everything was good.

"Daimen," his mother looked up at him "would you go start the fire, please?"

He nodded and went outside to the large fire pit in front of their house. When he knelt down to get the fire started, though, he heard something not too far off. It was a low grumble, and it got louder as seconds ticked by. He went to peek up over the hill of sand that separated him from the noise, and saw the bright headlights of machines driven by loud, whooping men. They were headed straight for his home.

Daimen made a mad dash for the house and threw open the door.

"MUM!"

"What?! What is it!?"

"Men!" he was out of breath and choked between each exclamation. "Riding bikes! Towards us!" His mother's face fell.

"Liza, get my gun." She said in a flat-line, serious tone. Liza ran upstairs to fetch the gun, and brought it back in time to hear the bikes scream over the hill and 'round their house.

"Mum…?" Liza whispered, not understanding what was going on.

"Hide. Both of you. In the cellar." Daimen started for the trap door to the cellar, but Liza was less compliant.

"I'm not going to hide while you risk yourself. I'm staying." Daimen froze halfway down the ladder, unsure of what was going on.

"Daimen, go. Liza, I'm not asking you—I'm telling you. Go NOW."

"No, Mum, I won't hide!"

"LIZA, DAMNIT! DO WHAT I SAY!"

Just then, the door was kicked in and several men, all holding knives and equipped with crossbows, poured into the house, cackling and eyeing up the women. Daimen, peeking out from a crack in the trap door, saw them in all their horror. He looked into their eyes and saw something dark and crazy, and in his fear, he climbed down and hid as far back in the cellar as he could. The screams of his sister echoed through the house as his mother fired her gun. Once. Again. And Again. She must have run out of bullets. The men cursed and screamed as they grabbed hold of His mother and sister, taunting them and telling them the horrible things they were going to do.

Daimen shook with fear. Fear for his mother. Fear for his sister. Fear that he would be found. Fear of death. He heard the raiders drag the two screaming women out of the house as the others ransacked the place, and after they had scavenged enough, he caught three words that struck him hard:

"Burn it down."

This was it. He was going to die. The house would collapse, and he would be trapped here. This was the end. As the sound of cracking fire came from above the basement, the sound of bikes screaming off into the distance covered it up. Daimen realized he had one shot left. He scrambled up the ladder and threw open the trap door. Flames had engulfed the walls and there was little room to move. The blaze moved in around him and licked his hands as he ran for the door. He stopped. The whole thing was blocked by fire. There was no other way out. He was coughing furiously, gagging on all the smoke. In one last desperate attempt to get out, he backed up and threw himself at the door, knocking it out and rolling onto the ground outside the house.

After crawling far enough away from his would-be funeral pyre, Daimen was satisfied that he had made it, and passed out from exhaustion and fear.


End file.
